“Just let go,” she snarls. “I’ll end it clean.”
I force out a rough, bubbling laugh, my hands scrabbling uselessly against her arms. “You don’t end me, bird.”
My fingers slide, finally finding something solid to grip onto, clamping around her throat. I squeeze, feeling tendons strain beneath my grip as she thrashes instantly, her entire body bucking with violent force.
“Do it,” she gasps, her nails raking across my face, then digging into my open wound with savage intent. “You don’t have the balls.”
Pain rips through me as her blade slices again, shallow but cruel, and my vision starts to tunnel. I grit my teeth and tighten my grip, pouring everything I have left into it.
“Gonna have to.” I gasp through burning lungs. “I usually don’t hurt women, but you’re not a typical kinda woman, are you?”
She fights like hell, kicking, clawing, as I shove her head under water, her movements growing frantic as air runs out. Bubbles tear from her mouth in desperate bursts, her body jerking against my hold.
“Fucker,” she chokes, the word breaking apart through the water.
“For them,” I snarl, tightening my fingers until my hands shake. “For every woman you broke.”
Her strength falters, and the fight drains out of her in slow, terrible seconds until her body goes slack in my grip.
I shove off the wall and break the surface with a raw, tearing gasp, air flooding my lungs as pain radiates from my side, the knife still buried deep. Every heartbeat sends fire through my body while I cling to consciousness by sheer will.
And finally, the bird floats up beside me.
Her eyes wide.
Empty.
Dead.
I drag in another breath, my voice rough, feral, barely holding together. “Should’ve stayed in the sky, you stupid bitch.”
Suddenly, something flashes red beneath the surface.
At first, I think it’s blood catching the emergency lights wrong, but then it blinks again.
My gut drops.
I grab her shoulder and roll her over, the water sloshing around us as her body turns. Strapped tight to her torso, half-hidden beneath tactical webbing, is a compact vest rigged with explosives, wires, charges, and a digital timer blinking steadily, almost calmly.
00:01:58
Fuck.
Her death must have tripped the failsafe.
Two minutes.
I don’t say a word.
My jaw locks as I catalog it all, my brain already moving, already counting distances, exits, bodies. Panic would kill more people than the blast if it got loose down here.
My job isn’t to react.
It’s to finish the mission.
I release her and let her drift, already pushing away, forcing my breathing steady despite the pain ripping through my side. Around me, my brothers are moving, shouting orders, securing rooms, protecting the women.
They don’t know.
